


Life says "Hi!"

by Stevie_Foxx



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, General romance but will get smuttier later, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, There is some mild violence to people who deserve it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stevie_Foxx/pseuds/Stevie_Foxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Siân is an introverted young Scottish woman who answers an ad to be a manager for a tiny airport on the northeastern coast of Canada and her adventures there.  It's a typical trashy romance story but I've had great fun with it.  Oh, and theres a rather bad-tempered old ghost who's a nuisance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late afternoon, sometime in April

**Author's Note:**

> The story can be taking place from the 1990's on. I have taken great liberties with the location and the people I put there.  
> This is just for fun and I hope people enjoy it.  
> There's a few scary/nasty bits at the beginning (see warnings above and why I chose 'mature' as the rating) but we leave these behind soon.
> 
> I hope to post weekly as this is a finished work of mine written a few years back.

Chapter One

     Late afternoon, sometime in April

      Siân MacLennan had stared at the screen scrolling the net before her, for two hours The local Hebrides papers had not helped. ‘The Scotsman’ and ‘The Glasgow Herald’ were proving hopeless. She wondered if she were wise in following Auntie Bronwen's advice, finding a job off the Island or out of Scotland. The thought of having her own life, free of her Aunt Ellen and Uncle Ewan’s disapproval and Julian's abuse was hope enough to make her persevere to the English, Welsh and Irish papers as well as ‘La Monde’ and ‘The Globe and Mail’. She turned to the Canadian with a ready sense of failure. Then,

  
     “Needed ASAP: Manager for single cargo  
     plane/privately-owned aerodrome.  
     Computer/office skills essential.  
      French/English fluency required.  
     Local language helpful. Send resume  
     to: Council of Elders, Otter Haven and  
     Surrounds, Nunavut NW5 BL17  
     CANADA”  
    

     Siân started; she had taken secretarial during her two years at the Glasgow polytechnic. Her lecturer had commended her on her flair for computers and her French was fluent. She tapped the print key and the unit ticked the screen out. She shut the computer down and rose. She hesitated about asking but just then Mr. MacLeod, the head librarian, crooked his finger at her.  
     “Come here, Siân.”  
     She went shyly to his desk as he got to his feet.  
     “Wha’ ye spearin' f’r, lassy?”  
     Siân did not know what to say or if she ought to be even talking to him. Mr. MacLeod cocked a look at her and deftly removed the print out from her hand. She gasped. The old man slid his forget-me-not gaze back to her.  
     “Bronwen's idea?”  
     Siân nodded shyly. The librarian hmphed, as he motioned her to follow him. It didn't take long for the pair of them to find Nunavut, but Otter Haven remained elusive.  After another hour, Siân realized the time, stammered her thanks, and started to rush away.  
     Siân hurried out of the tiny library, wondering how different it might be to live in Canada. She knew some of Glasgow and London and all of her home, the Isle of Bharraidh, Barra to the mainlanders, a tiny smack of life of the Scottish Outer Hebrides.  
   Siân shivered and pulled her cardigan closer around her, but the cold was not just in the wind. She had a good home with her Aunt and Uncle and two cousins. Small though it was, it was a roof over her head and there was food on the table. She ought to be grateful.  
     Siân and her family belonged to the Church of the Almighty and Living God. Just the family and three others, no one else on the Island would have anything to do with them.  
     She went down the steps to the main road and crossed to the Castle Bay side. She quickened her pace realizing again she had spent far too long in the library.  She tossed her head. She was twenty-three, she could do as she liked. Uncle Ewan was always on at her to get a decent job, well, now she was going to try and get one.  
     Her aunt and uncle’s cottage faced the road. It was a very melancholy affair in dire need of plaster and a great deal of weeding in the garden. Rusty hinges creaked painfully as she opened the gate. She refastened it against any wandering sheep, glancing back, lifting her eyes to Ben Cliad and Ben Eviral beyond, and wondered if she had long to see them. She went in the front as usual.  
     Her cousins were sitting on the sharp cornered settee opposite the fire. Both knitted slowly. Her aunt and uncle's chairs stood severely at either end. The dining room table's leaves were still dropped at its sides and the chairs, still rigid against the front wall.  
     “Siân!”  
     Her aunt came out of the lean-to kitchen, along with a cloud of steam and the old smell of boiled cabbage.  
     “Where ye been?”  
     “I were a' th' library, Aunt Ellen. Sorry, 'M late-”  
     “Set the table. Thank the' Good Shepherd, I've Morag an' Fiona t' help me 'r nuthin' get done. Lazy besom!”  
     “Aye, Aunt Ellen.”  
     Siân did as she was bid, quickly and neatly, so Aunt Ellen could find no fault.  
     Fiona and Morag, Siân's elder cousins, watched her. Fiona was like a Pre-Raphaelite painting, she had sugar-brown hair curling around her rosy cheeks, setting off her amber eyes. She was smallish but very slender. She was always dressed in shades of pink and cream. Morag was like a Byzantium icon; small, prim, and pale with lovely big blue eyes and a river of straight shining golden hair.Siân always felt intimidated by them.  
     Just as Siân finished setting the table, Fiona bounced up and poked Morag. Morag turned around to look at the red head as Fiona swanned over and sneered at their younger cousin, after checking to see their Mother was out of hearing.  
     “Julian's na' pleased wi' ye. Yer goin' t' catch it fra him after tea.”  
     Siân shrugged, unable to be drawn. She was still so uplifted by the thought of Canada; she could not be touched by such pettiness.  
     “He were here, wantin' t' speak t' ye earlier an' ye weren't t' be found. An' he was talkin' a f'rgivin' ye f'r tha' last transgression a' yers.”            Fiona tried again. Siân tried to remember which particular transgression she was talking about, there were so many.  
     “Aunt Ellen an' Uncle Ewan said they didna want me round th' place t'day. Couldna helpit,” she said shyly. She wanted to go on dreaming about Canada  
     “Wha's wi' ye?” Fiona demanded, obviously annoyed that her ploys had not worked.  
     “Nuthin'. Jus' had a lovely time.”  
     Fiona and Morag looked jealous, although they were older, everyone in the family as well as all the locals knew that Siân was the clever one.  
     “Ach! Ye ought t' ha' walked twice round the Island instead a' sittin' on yer backside reading fancy books! Yer fat enow as is!!” Fiona snapped, her temper getting the better of her as always.  
     Siân shrank back from her older cousins, “I . . . I'm no'-”  
     “Mum!!”  
     Aunt Ellen came hurrying out from the kitchen,  
     “Fiona-baeg? Wha's th' matter, lovey?”  
     “Siân's bein' awful rude t' me an' Morag an' goin' on an' on 'bout her being so clever an' reading books ’cose she got a scholarship an' we're jus' as God made us an' doin' th' best we can wi' th' grace a' the guid Lord.”  
     “That's enow out a' ye, Siân! It's a black sin th' way Bronwen neglected yer cousins sic she came to live near. Ye ought t' be ashamed. Well, if ye've all tha' clever here's summat else ye kin think on, ye won't be needin' tea fra the likes a' us.”  
     “A . . . aye, Aunt Ellen.” Siân removed her place setting, rearranging the others so there was not a gap and placed her chair back against the wall, out of the way. She tried one last ditch effort, “Aunt Ellen-”  
     “Awa' t' yer room, ye ungrateful tart! Ye kin stay there f'r th' evening. I'll ha' none a yer cheek.”  
     Siân slipped up to the loft/bedroom she shared with her cousins and curled on the window seat. A stiff draught whistled through under the window frame. She crept off and fetched out her thickest cardigan then sat back down. She stared out at Cnoc an Flithich and, chin on hands, arms wrapped around her knees, she dreamed of the Arctic.  
     She listened a moment, the sounds of muted voices, and the chink of china drifted up. They had started supper. She heard Julian's voice. He was talking about saving a poor female soul over on Vatersay.She frowned. She had overheard something similar in the shop opposite Kissimul Castle yesterday. Everyone said the lass was pregnant.  
     She glanced over at the bookshelf. There was her old school atlas. She made a rough guess at the Baker Lake area and surrounds, then decided that two hundred if not three hundred Bharraidhs would fit nicely with room to spare at the edges. The whole thing made her stifle a giggle.  
      She was lost in a description of gold hunters in the Yukon when her Aunt Ellen came in without knocking, making her.  
     "Wha' ye readin' this time? Come down an' apologize t' yer cousins an' receive dear Julian's an' yer father's blessin's.”  
      Siân considered a moment then, “Aunt Ellen, kin I ask ye summat?”  
      Ellen, never immune to the chance to minister to her niece or anyone else, nodded curtly.  
     “I . . . I've been hearin' some gossip in th' shops down Castle Bay- Is it true?” as she knelt to replace the atlas.  
     Aunt Ellen looked a little confused, “Wha' talk?”  
     “Abou' tha' Vatersay lass Julian says he saved.”  
     “He did save her f'r th' Lord, Siân. Ye should give thanks an' uplift him.”  
     Siân paused and cocked a look at her aunt. Despite the severity of her tight face and austere brown woolens, Ellen seemed benevolent. Siân straightened the books and rose.  
     “Folk're sayin' he got her pregnant.”  
    Aunt Ellen stared at her a moment, then, seating herself on Siân's narrow bed, patted the downy beside her. “Come an' sit ye doon, Siân. There's some things ye needs t' ken about men folk.”  
     Siân slowly went and sat down beside her aunt. She had the distinct feeling she was not going to like what she was about to be told.  
     “Men're different fra woman”, Ellen began. “They've needs, physical needs no decent, Christian woman has 'r should want. Sometimes men ha' t' relieve these needs. Decent women shouldna mind this an' treat their fallen sisters wi' courtesy and Christian pity as they've relieved them of 'n uncomf'tble bu' necessary duty.”  
     “I- isn' tha' adultery?” Siân asked.  
     Aunt Ellen raised an eyebrow. “No, Siân, no' when it's acceptable t' th' wife, who must, a' course please her husband whene'er he chooses. Good, God-fearin' women aren't like wicked anes. We canna give t' oor men always.”  
     “So, we’re jus' stand an' watch an’ be faithful, t’ tha’?”  
     Aunt Ellen gave Siân a long look. “Bronwen got t' ye, didn' she?”  The older woman had granite in her voice and Siân knew there was nothing else to say.  Aunt Ellen rose and went to the door.

“Come.”

 Siân got up and followed slowly downstairs. Iron entered her heart. She was going to find a way to leave as soon as possible. No regrets.

Julian Menzies was standing in the middle of the front room, basking in the glow of the peat fire and her family's' approval.  On closer inspection, he was a tall, thin creature with pale features and sulfurous brown eyes. His hands were pasty white and very smooth with long slender fingers rather like a fish or some other being which lived too long without the benefit of sunlight.  
     “Siân,” he hissed in his nasal tone. “I'm deeply, deeply grieved t' hear ye been plaguin' yer elder cousins. They're older an' wiser than ye. Ye should honor an' obey them wi'out question.”  
     “They started pl-”  
     “That's no' th' point!” he snapped at her. Siân winced, folded her arms across her stomach, and stared at the floor in front of him.  
     “Apologize t' yer cousins, ye black-hearted bastard-child!” Uncle Ewan snarled from his corner. Siân sighed, turned, and looked at the two knitters on the settee.  
     “Sorry Mory an' Fi,” she said softly, which pleased no one.  
     “Sit doon an' hold yer wheesht,” Uncle Ewan said. Siân went to the only seat left, the front window seat, complete with draught. She was glad she had forgotten to take off the cardigan.Julian started to talk in his dull monotone about the importance of saving souls as Siân's mind wandered happily back to Canada.  
     “Siân!”  
     She jumped. It was completely black outside and the mantle clock was showing ten. She looked around at the family, who were all staring at her, “Wha'?” she asked, wondering what she had missed  
     “Say guid night t' Julian.” Her aunt smiled oddly at her and to her surprise, the family rose, trooped off through, and upstairs to bed.  
     “Good night”, she said, and hurried to open the front door for him .  
     “Is tha' all?” she heard him ask, which startled her.  
     “Not bloody likely.” She flung at him as he stepped out. He turned, shocked at her language, and opened his mouth to say something. Terrified, she slammed the door in his face and fled upstairs.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siân is an introverted young Scottish woman who answers an ad to be a manager for a tiny airport on the northeastern coast of Canada and her adventures there. It's a typical trashy romance story but I've had great fun with it. Oh, and theres a rather bad-tempered old ghost who's a nuisance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story can be taking place from the 1990's on. I have taken great liberties with the location and the people I put there.  
> This is just for fun and I hope people enjoy it.  
> There's a few scary/nasty bits at the beginning (see warnings above and why I chose 'mature' as the rating) but we leave these behind soon.
> 
> I hope to post weekly as this is a finished work of mine written a few years back.

Chapter Two  
Auntie Bronwen's house was half way along the Nask on the way to Horough. It was a pretty board house and her garden was full of late afternoon flowers. A sweet little stone path wound whimsically up to the kitchen door. Siân went in, hardly pausing to tap on the door.  
“Auntie! It's only me.”  
“Siân, deary!” Auntie Bronwen came merrily around the corner from the bedroom. “Well, love? Anythin' from th' library?”  
Siân handed her the printout from the "Globe". Auntie took it and went off in search of her spectacles, leaving Siân to receive a rapturous welcome from Tabitha Twitchit, Auntie's overly large black Persian. Siân made the tea and took down two mugs from the cupboard over the counter, set them on the small tin tray along with the everyday set of sugar bowl, milk jug and tea pot.  
"I like this, deary."  
"Aye, I think I do, too . . . I couldna find Otter Haven on any a' th' maps."  
Auntie went through to the sitting room and Siân followed, bringing the tea things. Auntie reached into the sideboard and brought out the biscuit tin, always brimming with chocolate digestives. Both sat on the fat, comfortable settee. Auntie rummaged in the bookshelf behind them, then found the sheaf of yellowing travel pamphlets, while Siân poured out for them. Siân had a sip and peered over her aunt's shoulder as the older woman leafed through.   
"Ah." Auntie freed a small local map. "Baker Lake and Surrounds" was in Gothic lettering across the top. Aunt and niece poured over the 12” by 12” piece of paper. Siân idly wondered how Auntie had known where to start looking.  
"There," Siân pointed.   
"Good," murmured Auntie. Otter Haven was almost off the top of the map, right on the shores of Hudson Bay. "Well . . . It's a wee thing small," confessed Auntie after consulting the map legend. "But it's possible it's grown up a bit sic I were there."  
"Ye've been then, Auntie?"  
"Once, love. There was a very good restaurant up there. It’s probably gone now. ‘S been o’er twelve years now. I spent a week in Baker Lake - th' settlement, ye wee scamp!" As Siân opened her mouth to ask if it had not been a little on the wet side.  
"Ye'll need yer warm things, though." Auntie had a meditative swallow.   
Siân fiddled with her empty mug. "I dinna kens wha' they'll think a' th' likes a' me, kens wha' folk round here think-"  
Bronwen glanced at her niece and looked a little exasperated. "Ach, Siân! I dinna give ha'penny f'r wha' yer idiot of an uncle or my silly sister think 'r say. Ye've a bonny enough face an' I kens several that would give their eyeteeth f'r tha' wais' length red top a' yers."  
Siân raised her eyes and Bronwen shook her head.  
"Siân, deary, sit yersel' doon at me typewriter an' get a letter off t' them folk as soon as possible. If ye get this job, ye kin go wi' me t' Glasgow on a shoppin' spree and we'll see the Consul there. Yer twenty-three an' ye kin go wi' th' minimal fuss fra yer uncle an’ aunt. God knows yer best rid a' them".  
"Auntie!” Siân cried, yet felt ashamed as Auntie Bronwen was only expressing what she herself had often felt of late.  
"Get t' tha' letter."  
As she was bid, Siân went to the little desk and borrowed Auntie's letter paper to write out her request to be considered for the post. Auntie left her to it only to return ten minutes later as Siân pulled the letter from the machine and handed it over. Auntie read it quickly and nodded, giving Siân a copy of her resume and a large manila envelope. Siân borrowed Auntie's fountain pen to sign the letter and address the envelope, placing everything in and sealing it. Auntie took both and shot a look at the clock on the mantle.  
"Quarter of four. Right. I'm awa' t' post this. Th' sooner, th' better."   
Bronwen was out of the door before Siân could say a word. There was the rattle of the gate latch and her Auntie's footsteps receded down the road.   
Siân dropped on the settee and discovered that she had been forgetting to breathe.  
After a few moments, she picked herself up, took the tea things through, and washed up. When she finished all the tidying, she poured out a bowl of cream for Mrs. Tiggy-winkle and taking the saucer of toast crusts, she slipped out to the back garden.   
She was struck by the distinct feeling that her life had changed dramatically.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siân is an introverted young Scottish woman who answers an ad to be a manager for a tiny airport on the northeastern coast of Canada and her adventures there. It's a typical trashy romance story but I've had great fun with it. Oh, and theres a rather bad-tempered old ghost who's a nuisance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story can be taking place from the 1990's on. I have taken great liberties with the location and the people I put there.  
> This is just for fun and I hope people enjoy it.  
> There's a few scary/nasty bits at the beginning (see warnings above and why I chose 'mature' as the rating) but we leave these behind soon.

Wednesday Afternoon 

Siân wandered despondently out of the library. Six weeks had passed since she had rashly applied for the job in Canada. She was trying to make up her mind if she would accept Mr. MacLeod's offer to take her on as a clerical assistant. He had winked and told her not to rush to make a decision. The school year did not finish for another month and she might as well see what happened with that job in Canada.  
A shout made her turn back. The mail carrier was hailing her from his van. She hurried back to the Main Road.  
"Wha's wrong, Mr. McNeil?"  
"Nuthin', luv." 

Despite what Siân thought, most people on the Island liked her very much, Mr. McNeil included, which was why he was doing what he was, just like Mr. MacLeod had.  
"Jus' doin' a late round, luv. This came f'r ye. Want me t' leave it a' th' house?" He handed her a very beaten-up, long brown envelope. It was from Canada! Her hands shook as she all but snatched it from him.  
"No, thank ye. I'll jus' ha' it now, please."  
He nodded to her, thinking that form letter refusals came in typewritten official envelopes. This one from Canada was handwritten; it ought to cheer her up a bit.   
He motored off over the hill to Allasdale, reflecting that Siân-baeg was looking pretty run down. 

Siân rushed up the road and burst in on Auntie, breathless.  
"It's th' reply fra Canada.” Bronwen stated calmly before Siân could get a word out. Siân nodded and handed it to her.   
Bronwen took up her paper knife and sliced the envelope easily. There was a vague scent of something herb-y rising from the paper. The older woman read aloud from the strong hand-written letter.

“Otter Haven Aerodrome   
Otter Haven   
Nunavut NW5 BL7 Canada   
6/5/-

Dear Siân MacLennan,  
The Council of Elders of Otter Haven and Surrounds   
is happy to offer the position of Assistant Manager to you.   
On your acceptance, we will instruct the Consul in   
Glasgow to proceed with the sponsorship papers. The Council  
has agreed to fund your move here. Living quarters are   
available on the premises. If this is not acceptable, other   
arrangements came be made.  
We would be pleased to hear from you as soon as possible.  
Cordially,  
Tuktualoweet   
-Chief-   
Received at Council 6/4/-   
Approved at Council 6/4/-” 

 

Siân and Bronwen stared at one another again.  
"I like this, deary"   
Siân nodded dumbly. It was as though someone had handed her the winning numbers for the pools and she had no idea how to react. Bronwen smiling, handed it to Siân, who dropped on the settee and reread it for herself.   
They wanted her. They really wanted her. She put the letter down on the coffee table and picked up Tabitha, who was purring around her ankles. Cuddling the big cat was settling.   
She reached back and pulled out the small map for the umpteenth time since she had applied, staring at it made the butterflies in her stomach do the Fling backwards. She removed the cat from her lap and spread the map out on the table before her with the letter. Her heart was pounding. She stared at it. Tuktualoweet; what kind of a name was that? She wondered if he was descended from an Eskimo.  
Auntie Bronwen entered with her Prince Albert tea set with the Indian silk cloth on the special Rosewood Stevensonii carved tray. The soft white china shone with the gold accents and the bright, bold sprays of the reddest roses. The delicate teapot was shrouded in the best embroidered cozy. Siân raised her eyebrows to her aunt; pale pink Limoges had always done for her visits.  
"Celebration," the older woman announced. Siân removed the papers and the cat so Auntie could put the tray on the table. Bronwen sat down and put the cat on her own lap. She seemed to remember something and went back to the kitchen.  
"I'd best write t' them as soon as I can, aye, Auntie?” Siân said eagerly, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. Bronwen returned with her cordless telephone. The older woman liked to work in the garden on bright days and refused to come inside simply to chat.  
"Here," she said, without preamble, giving it to Siân. "Tell 'em ye'll write later t' confirm. It's five here, should be about lunch time wi' them."   
Siân stared at her aunt. The horror of spending so much money just to talk on the phone was more than she wanted to think about.  
"Go on."   
Siân looked at the letter. They had very kindly put in all the country codes as well as the number. She dialed carefully and glanced at Auntie for moral support. Auntie poured each of them a cup of sweet-smelling Darjeeling and helped herself to a chocolate biscuit.  
There was a buzz of a line. After six rings, Siân was ready to try again later thinking that they were all out flying or something.  
"Otter Haven Exchange," a drab female voice came over.  
"Is this . . . er . . . Tuktua . . . loweet's office?"  
"Certainly not." The drab voice was clearly appalled.  
"I - I'm sorry." Siân went all flustered and felt terribly embarrassed; she had reached the wrong number.  
"Hold the line," snapped the voice.   
Siân looked at Auntie with wide eyes. Auntie snorted.   
"Bad tem'ered hussy."  
There was a crackle of connection, then a ring. Siân started to take a deep breath.  
"Hello?” A calm, male voice came on.  
"Er . . . Hello, I-I'm lookin' - please may I speak t' Chief Ticklewheat?"   
Siân winced in horror of what came out of her mouth  
Bronwen frowned and shook her head. Siân knew she truly deserved it when Auntie gave her a gentle admonishing slap on the knee. There was a muffled noise on the other end. As she listened with beetroot cheeks, she realized that the person on the other end was trying very hard not to laugh!  
" I’m very sorry, C-Chief Tuk-tua-lo-weet?” Siân tried again, hoping there would still be a job for her. The person recovered, but there was still laughter in his voice.  
"Ya better stick ta Many Caribou, young lady. Yeah, I'm th' Chief, what's up?"  
"I . . . I'm Siân MacLennan."  
"Hey, Sh-ah-n, that’s how ya say it?”  
“Aye, sir tha’s righ’.”  
“Great. Jo and I were just talkin' 'boucha this morning. We were wonderin' when ya'd let us know."  
"I - I jus' got th' letter t'day.” She wondered who Jo was.  
"Let's hear it f'r th' post office! Sheesh! T'day?"  
"Aye, sir, about ten minutes back."  
"Aiieee! How ya doin' t'day?"  
"Er . . . quite well thank ye, sir."  
"Good." The Chief was in good humor as far as she could tell. "Ferget th' 'sir-ing' part, we're pretty informal. Ya wantin' time ta think on it?"  
"No' really, sir, I'd like t' come."  
"Good. When can ya get here?"  
Siân gasped, "I-I've go' t' go t' Glasgow-"  
"Couple a' days on th' ferry?"  
"No, sir - Mr. Caribou, we've got a plane. Just need t' wait on th' tide."  
The Chief sounded as though he had started to laugh again. She presumed it was the idea of a plane having to wait for the tide,  
"Th' Island's pretty rocky, sir. Th' beach is th' best runway, bein' th' flattest."  
Chief Tuktualoweet chuckled. "We use sea and land planes, Missy. I - ah, just like the way ya add up yer nomenclatures."  
Siân cringed, "I'm sorry-"  
"Don't be. Can't wait ta tell th' wife our new name."  
"I'll jus' pop 'round t' Susan's an' book th' tickets f'r Friday," Auntie Bronwen put in and rose, knocking Siân further out of kilter.  
"What?” Many Caribou asked.  
"Er . . . Nuthin', sir, jus' me Auntie."  
"Yeah? Tell her, hey."   
"He says, hey," Siân passed on, feeling a little confused.   
Bronwen smiled. "Fine. Ask him what plane ye should take an' how t' get there. Write it doon here," handing her a pad and pen. "Also if yer needin t' bring anythin' special. Don't ferg't noo, lassy!" All the time putting on a cardigan and tying on a head square.   
Siân nodded writing as fast as she could. "Aye, Auntie. Sir?"  
"I heard, Siân. Take any Canada-bound flight ya want. Head f'r Montreal, then catch a domestic ta Povungnituk-"   
"I'm sorry, where?" The name went right over Siân's head.   
The Chief spelled it for her. "Tell 'em at the 'Drome what day you'll be there. Seven Bears 'r Bobcat'll fly ya up, OK?"  
"Lovely." She heard Auntie's bike squeak out the gate.  
Bobcat? Seven Bears??  
"Good. Best things ya kin bring outside of yer personal stuff, is yer warmest stuff. Wool's good but it gets sodden an' won't keep the cold out. Y'r best bet's ta talk ta Seven Bears. He'll tell ya more about whatcha'll be doin'. He's over at th' 'Drome now. Hang on the line an' I'll get El ta put ya through. Good talkin' ta ya, Siân. Meecha soon."   
They said their goodbyes. There were some odd crackles . She reflected that the Chief seemed a nice person. He spoke with a very strange accent. She presumed it was from the local dialect. She wondered if she would have to attend special lessons to learn it. She had felt a little unsure about talking to him as he spoke with quiet clipped tones. Then it was a cold place; people probably did not talk that much there. Another 'phone started to ring.  
"Haven 'Drome."   
The new voice sounded like a very small child.  
"Hello, this is Siân MacLennan. Is Mr. Seven Bears in?"  
"Uh huh."  
There was a thud as the phone was unceremoniously dropped. In the distance she heard running feet and the child shouting, “Da-ad! Phone!!”  
There was a wait. She leaned over the table, picked up her teacup, and had a reviving sip. She had the job and it was obviously a family business. The little one running off to get his Daddy, so Mummy must be out gardening or helping with the planes, perhaps, or was busy with her other household chores at home. This image made her feel calmer.  
" 'Drome. Wha's up?" A black velvet male voice came on the line and she nearly jumped out of her skin.  
"Mr. Seven Bears?"   
"Huh? Yeah, I’m Seven Bears."  
"Guid a'ternoon, sir. I-I'm Siân Mac-MacLennan. I jus’ spoke t’ the’ Chief t’ tell him I’d accepted th’ job."  
"Hey! Sh-ahh-n, that how ya say it?”  
“Aye.”  
“Spelled ‘S-i-a-^-n’?”  
“Aye, it’s Welsh. Me maternal grandmother were fra Llannelli. Me Mum was Rhiannon and Auntie’s Bronwen.”  
Hey, Siân. M' name's Jean-Paul. You on yer way?"   
His voice carried a different lilt from the Chief’s. Something about it made Siân wonder if it was Quebecois. She also noted that he seemed oddly pleased.  
"Sort of - I just got th' letter t'day an' spoke with Mr. . . . Chief Many Caribou. He said I should talk t' ye 'bout th' stuff I need t' bring, if tha's a'righ'. When would th' mos' convenient time f'r me t' come, sir?"  
"When can you catch a plane over?”   
Siân gasped, "I-I've got t' go t' Glasgow. Auntie's jus' gone f'r th' tickets, sir . . . er . . . Jean-Paul"   
"Good f'r Auntie."  
"I'll try an' get away f'r t'morrow-" Siân realized that she had not told her uncle and aunt or Julian. What would they say!  
"Problem?" His voice was gentle, almost caressing.  
"No, I hope no'. I jus' have t' organize thin's. It's still a bit of a surprise. I dinna kens how t' fly-"  
"I'll teach ya." The flippant pilot was back.   
"Er . . . thanks, tha's very kind a' ye . . . um . . . I, well, I jus' need t' ge' th' papers an' pack . . . That's right!” She got her head screwed back on the right way and remembered what it was she had to ask him, "Couple a' thin's-"  
"Shoot."  
"Well, Mr . . . Chief Many Caribou says tha' wool gets sodden."  
Mr. Seven Bears chuckled for no apparent reason. "Yeah? And?"  
Siân felt her face burn. "Wha' kin ye suggest?'  
"Don' knit yerself a swim suit."  
She gasped, startled by his teasing reply, and then began to laugh in spite of herself.  
"Jus' kiddin'. Me an' mine generally stick to fur and leather." He went on. "It's summer, it can get up to 50°F 'r 60°F, so you'll be pretty comf'terble right now. We're on th’ coast an' yer Island, so yer pretty used t' dampness in th’ air. 'S really up t' you. Ya might wanna wait and get somethin' made local f'r yerself. Prob'ly cheaper and better f'r knowin' th’ area. If ya wanna look at stuff yer end ya might wanna check out some camping supply places. Lots of those explorer-types use down, goose is th’ best. I donno know how well yer stores'ud stock up on that kinda a thing. Tell 'em it got ta be good f'r -90° F ta -110° F, if not less, takin' in wind chill factor."   
"Minus 90° F!" Siân could hardly believe her ears.   
"Yeah, but not always. Right now we've got flowers and sled dogs runnin' round th’ place."  
Siân was away in a day-dream about sled dogs and polar things.  
"Oh! Sled dogs? Real sled dogs? Like in the Iditarod? Are there polar bears too?"  
There was a soft laugh in her ear, making her spine tingle in a pleasant sort of way.   
"Yeah, there's sled dogs and polar bears, walrus, sea-lions, seals, foxes, wolves, caribou, musk ox an' all that good stuff. You a nature type?"  
"Nooo, jus' like th' though' a' it," she sighed, feeling wonderful.  
Again the soft laughter. "Ya got sometin' ta rival?"  
She thought a moment. "Well, there's lots a' sheep." That broke him up completely. She found herself laughing along with him. "I'm no' finished! There's rabbits, seals, squirrels, loads a' sea an' song birds an' th' usual cats, dogs, cows an' some ponies. Me Auntie's go' a visitin' hedgehog."  
"Hedgehog? That ain't even a mouthful, Siâny."  
"We don' eat them!" she cried, still laughing.  
"Them's pretty poor pickin's."  
"Och, it's only a wee bit of an Island."  
"Only a wee bit, huh?" His laughing tone made her giggle again.  
"Yer no helpin’!"  
"Sorry. What else ya wanna know?"  
"Th' accommodations sound a'right. Wha' exactly will I be doin'?"  
Seven Bears harumphed to himself, considering.   
"General office stuff, filin', doin' orders that kinda thing. You know how to use the computer?"  
"Word-processing, spreadsheet, graphics, internet an' so on?" she said eagerly. She had been doing all of that on the one in the library as Mr. MacLeod liked to refuse to look at it, leaving Siân and Ginny to play.  
"Yeah, you know, seein' as you got the jargon. The Council decided that th’ 'Drome and th’ bar'ud each have one."  
"Th' bar?" She could not believe her ears.  
"Yeah. That's where th’ trappers go ta do their tradin'. Th’ 'Drome's getting one f'r th’ orders and such."  
"Oh," she said, a little inanely. "A'righ', about how many folk ye servin'? Auntie's map legend said under 20."  
"Try 320 plus, Siân. Auntie's been here?"  
"Aye. Mus' ha' been quite a while back . . . mmm." She thought a moment then remembered. "She said it mus' ha been twelve 'r so years back."  
"She a MacLennan like you?"  
"No, she's McInnes, me Mum's elder sister."  
"McInnes . . . Bronwen McInnes, hmmm. Sounds familiar but that's before my stint. I'll ask Pop an' Chief Tuk, they’ll remember."  
"She got th' map when she were in Baker Lake Settlement, that's yonks away from ye."  
"We got a good grapevine. Anythin’ else?''  
"Ah, I canna think a' anythin'. Ye been very helpful, though."  
"Ya need anythin', Siân, holler here at th’ 'Drome. Gimme a call when ya got the info on when ya’ll hit Montreal, yeah?'  
"Lovely. Bye f'r now."  
"Later, Siâny."  
She clicked the 'off' button and hugged herself, dropping down to sit on the settee once more. She was still twitching with excitement and playing with Tabitha’s ears when Auntie came in about half an hour later.  
"We're all booked, deary. Flight's 'round eleven of th' morning Monday." Bronwen cocked her head at her smiling niece. "Had a nice time?"  
"Aye, they seem like real nice folk."   
Siân glanced out the window. The sun was setting, flaming the western seaboard with evening color, turning the gulls to bright sparks only to vanish into the golden fire of the west.  
"I think I'm goin' t' like this."


End file.
